


The Avengers Institute

by fluffy_mittens



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Child Abuse, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Eating Disorders, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Twenty One Pilots Reference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24303016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffy_mittens/pseuds/fluffy_mittens
Summary: An alternate universe where the avengers are all in high school and are all suffering with mental health/abuse/stuff like that.
Kudos: 12





	1. Ironman

Tony crouched in the corner of his bedroom, squeezing his eyes shut so the tears didn't escape. His arm was screaming in pain, and he could hear his father drunkenly yelling something downstairs.

Tony sucked in a breath as he shifted his arm. He was sure it was sprained, or possibly fractured. People would ask questions; he had to come up with an excuse.

He fell out of a tree? Boring.  
He fell off his skateboard? He'd used that one before.  
He broke it in an arm-wrestling contest? Nobody would believe it.

He definitely couldn't say 'my father broke it while beating me up because he's abusive'. Not only was it the truth, nobody would ever look at him the same again.

He sighed, and absentmindedly reached for the potato gun he'd been designing. He looked at it critically; the barrel was too long, and the gauge was too wide. He'd have to work on it.

Tony's mum had died six years ago, in a car crash. His dad was an alcoholic, always off at the pub and coming home at ass o'clock in the morning. He took his grief and fury out on Tony, until Tony's back was covered in scars and bruises covered his arms and legs.

He stood up slowly, supporting his injured arm, and staggered over to his bed. His bedroom was huge and spacious because his father was somehow rich. Inherited business or something like that.

Tony hated its size; it seemed echoey and empty. It made him feel alone, abandoned, forgotten. He would have much preferred a smaller room.

His walls were covered in engineering magazines and posters for famous inventors. He'd always been fascinated by mechanics and technology; they made sense. If they were broken, you could fix them. Then they served their proper purpose until they broke again.

His bed was tucked away in the corner, with a dark quilt and soft pillows. Most of his room was a jumble of half-built inventions and supplies- nails, bolts, screws and more.

Tony studied his arm critically. He moved his arm slowly, bending the elbow and ignoring the pain. He came to a conclusion; it was only sprained. Thank god, he thought.

He created a sling for his arm out of a white curtain; he kept a supply of first aid materials hidden away for when his father hurt him. The sun had slid below the horizon, and he collapsed on his bed, exhausted. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he didn't dare venture downstairs.

He closed his eyes and drifted slowly off to sleep.

-

Tony awoke as the sun streamed in through his blinds. The throbbing in his arm was less, and he sat up groggily. He glanced at his self-made clock, and jumped. He had school in ten minutes!

He leaped out of bed and shoved on his uniform, stiff white shirt and navy trousers. He attended the Avengers Institute, a prestigious school that focused on science and maths. School was his world, where he was in control and at the top of the pecking order.

Tony was in the 'popular' group at school, and most of the teachers hated him. He was always causing trouble, and got perfect grades.

He peered into his dad's room when he passed it. His dad was out cold, snoring loud enough to bring the house down.

He grabbed a muesli bar from the kitchen, shoved his books in his school bag and trudged out the door.

Tony lived five minutes away from his school, so every day he walked the distance. He stared at the ground as he shuffled along, mentally preparing himself to paste on his 'school persona' again.

Tony saw Natasha Romanoff walking into the school with her friends, and rolled his eyes. Natasha was the most popular girl at school, and hated him with a passion. She was perfect, an A-level student with heaps of friends.

Natasha's friend Pepper caught Tony's eye, and he swallowed. Shut the fuck up, he commanded himself sharply, and forced himself to look away.

Clint Barton, Natasha's best friend, stood beside the red-haired girl, where he always was. He was kind of a nerd, and didn't have many friends other than Natasha. He had shown unexpected skill at the last camp when he blitzed the archery exercise, and had earned some respect.

Tony spotted Bruce Banner slipping past the large group with an oversized school bag. Bruce had always fascinated Tony; he was a nerd and very unpopular, and there was a rumour that he had anger management issues. Apparently, he had blown up in maths class one day, and sent a girl to hospital.

Next to Bruce was Steve Rogers, the do-gooder that Tony hated with a passion. He was the teacher's pet, and was always so patronising to Tony.

The last boy in the small group was Thor Odinson. Thor had only recently moved to America from Norway, and was a bit of an outsider. He was arrogant and very self-confident, and didn't care at all what the other students thought of him. He was also very handsome, which annoyed Tony to no end.

Tony heard a voice behind him say "Tony, hey!" and he spun around to see Obadiah Stane. "Obie!" he said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

Obadiah was Tony's 'best friend' at school. He was a manipulative little worm, and Tony couldn't stand him. But he was the best match for Tony's persona at school.

"You checking out Romanoff?" Obie chuckled, leering at the group of girls and Barton. Tony snorted. "Her ego's already big enough."

Obie glanced at Tony's sling. "Whaddya do?" he asked, not really paying attention. Tony flicked his hand in the air carelessly, and replied, "Had to teach a little dweeb a lesson. Just sprained." "Mm." Obie replied absentmindedly.

Tony felt satisfied as the other kids gave him scared side glances, his stride quickening. Here was where he was in control; here was where he wasn't at the mercy of someone stronger than him. Here was where he could be free.


	2. Black Widow

Natasha closed her eyes as the blade sliced through her skin and blood dripped onto the towel. She swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy, and leaned back against her bed.

For some reason, her mind had decided to take a walk down memory lane tonight. Glass shattering, screaming, blood coating her young 7 year old self. The orphanage, the cruel carers, her hand trembling as it pointed the gun at her head. Tumbling off the roof, lying in hospital, staring at food and being unable to eat it.

Natasha felt nausea surge, and she vomited into the bucket next to her. This was her nightly routine- get home, eat dinner, throw it back up and cut her wrists.

She had taken great care not to reveal any of her secrets to her new foster parents. She had been living with them for a year now, and they still hadn't noticed anything was amiss.

Sometimes Natasha wished they would.

She swallowed, savouring the acidic, metallic taste in her mouth, and staggered to her feet. She wrapped a tissue around her wrist, and bundled the towel up. Her body was on autopilot; she wasn't even seeing what she was doing.

Natasha collapsed on her bed once the evidence had been cleaned up. She could hear her foster parents heading to their bedroom, and she glanced at her phone- 10:06pm.

She felt tired, but sleep was full of nightmares and memories. Most nights, she either stayed up until four in the morning and fell into a dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion, or didn't sleep at all. She was used to disguising her fatigue by now.

Natasha sat up and grabbed her phone, opening up discord. Online, she didn't have to be Natasha Romanoff. Online, she could be whoever she wanted to be.

So she was Natalie Rushman, gorgeous and perfect in every way. Natalie had a job at McDonalds, and a boyfriend called Abe. She loved cooking and shopping, and had a dog called Max.

Only one person knew about her 'issues'- Clint. He was her best friend and her confidant, and had known her since she was 8. He had saved her life when she tried to commit suicide, and was determined to protect her.

She opened up their DM channel, and typed into it:

Nat: Wrists are cut and dinner is down the drain

She then plugged in her headphones and blasted music- Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots. They were her favourite band, because their songs resonated within her and made her feel like she wasn't alone.

Natasha murmured along to the song:

"I ponder of something great. My lungs will fill and then deflate. They fill with fire, exhale desire, I know it's dire, my time today. I have these thoughts so often I ought to replace that slot with what I once bought. 'Cause somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence."

Tears made their way down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes softly.

She hoped it wouldn't be like this forever.

-

Natasha opened her eyes slowly, blinking. It was still dark. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and glanced at her wrists. The cut was mostly healed by now, and unfortunately the pain was gone.

Her foster parents weren't up yet, and the clock read 5:39am. She sighed, bringing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them.

She picked up her phone, to see a DM from Clint:

Barton: Try and eat something for breakfast  
Barton: For me  
Barton: And don't forget you promised to give me back my book

She smiled slightly, and replied:

Nat: I haven't finished it yet bozo

Clint texted back almost immediately:

Barton: Too bad I wanna read it and its mine  
Barton: B r i n g i t

Natasha rolled her eyes, grabbing the book from her bedside table. It was Gone by Michael Grant.

She shoved it into her school bag, then slumped back on her bed. She still had an hour until she was supposed to be up, so she put her headphones back on and pressed play on Spotify. Ode to Sleep by Twenty One Pilots started blasting, and she lay back and closed her eyes again.

The lyrics were very familiar:

"I wake up fine and dandy but then by the time I find it handy to rip my heart apart and start planning my crash landing, I go up-up-up-up-up to the ceiling. Then I feel my soul start leaving, like an old man's hair receding. I'm pleading, please, oh please on my knees repeatedly asking why it's got to be like this. Is this living free? I don't wanna be the one, be the one to have the sun's blood on my hands, I'll tell the moon. Take this weapon, forged in darkness. Some see a pen, I see a harpoon."

The tempo changed, slowing down.

"I'll stay awake, 'cause the dark's not taking prisoners tonight. Why am I not scared in the morning? I don't hear those voices calling. I must have kicked them out, I must have kicked them out. I swear I heard demons yelling, those crazy words they were spelling. They told me I was gone, they told me I was gone."

The tempo changed again, slowing down even more as the chorus blasted out.

"But I'll tell 'em why won't you let me go, do I threaten all of your plans? I'm insignificant. Please tell 'em you have no plans for me. I will set my soul on fire, what have I become? I'll tell 'em all."


End file.
